


Hearthfire

by MirrorMystic



Series: Those Who Carry The Flame [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, F/F, Gen, POV First Person, Post-Apocalypse, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: “She was a legend,” I say. “I’m just… a person. I just want to be a person.”“It is the legend that endures,” Eli says. “People need the legend.”“No,” I say, adamant. “People need other people.”





	Hearthfire

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from Tumblr; originally written 1/27/17.

~*~  
  
In the darkness, we find light where we can.  
  
From the blazing bonfires of heroes and saints, to the mere glinting embers of those who walk beside us, to the cold light of distant stars, who we gaze upon in wonder long after they’ve gone out.  
  
This is a tale of those who did not quite succumb, or overcome, but those who survived the dark, who found light where they could- and were themselves a light to those beside them.  
  
This is a tale of those who endure the cold of the long night- a tale of those who carry the flame…  
  
~*~

  
_Twenty years ago, war came to my planet. And then, just as suddenly, it left- leaving behind a horde of mindless ghouls in our streets, and a sandstorm that never ends.  
  
My friends and I are the first generation born into this ravaged world- a world where monsters roam the streets and pockets of humanity hold on to what safe zones they can. Somehow, we manage to scrape a living. It’s not an easy life; but it’s not all bad, either.  
  
Twenty years ago, the sky fell in, and monsters descended upon us, but the world did not end. We’re still here, despite everything. We’ve made it this far. And we’ll make it further.  
  
My name is Eliza Beauchene, and this wretched world hasn’t killed us yet.  
  
Today is a new day.  
  
Let’s survive. _  
  
~*~  
  
After the Fall came the winter that would never end.  
  
I guess that’s what happens when an otherworldly sandstorm blocks out your sun for twenty years. You can see it, if you look out past the shimmering white light of the Halo protecting the city. Sometimes, you can even hear it, howling against the barrier, nicking and scratching and scraping, like hail on a windshield.  
  
The Halo gives us light- a pale light that makes it look constantly overcast. But it doesn’t give much in the way of heat. That means every morning is cold, dark, and gloomy- which would already be bad enough even if I didn’t have to go to church first thing in the morning.  
  
“Eliza? Babe. Babe, get up.”  
  
Normally I’d love to wake up to Yasmin like this, but the urgency in her voice snaps me awake- to my instant irritation.  
  
“Are we under attack?” I croak, my voice hoarse.  
  
“No. But we’re going to be late for bell service.”  
  
Ugh. Again?  
  
“What happened to our alarm clock?” I ask, sitting up in bed. My blanket slides down my shoulders and I shiver immediately. I hug myself, my bare forearms prickling.  
  
“Power’s out,” Yasmin says. She’s sitting at the foot of our bed, already dressed and ready to go. She watches me silently wonder where the hell my work clothes are, before passing them to me in a neat, tidy pile. I make a face, and then scatter them haphazardly on the bed. Yasmin rolls her eyes.  
  
“Why’s the power out?” I ask, gratefully pulling on some long sleeves. “It’s freezing in here.”  
  
“I dunno,” Yasmin shrugs. “Maybe they’ll announce it at bell service.”  
  
Just hearing about it gets on my nerves. I groan, pulling on my jacket, my boots. I grab a hair tie off the dresser and pull my hair into a ponytail. Normally I look forward to spending a nice few minutes every morning having Yasmin brush and braid my hair, but we’re already late. Thanks, _church_.  
  
We step outside and into the snow- real, powdery snow, not the slushy shit we had to slosh around in yesterday. The sight of it actually gives me pause. Demeter never got cold enough for real snow. I look up, past the shimmering light of the Halo. There are clouds up there, somewhere. Past the shield, past the storm. And past the clouds, the sun.  
  
“Hey,” I ask absently, as Yasmin locks the door behind me.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Why does the Halo let snow in, but not the sandstorm?”  
  
I turn around, and I can see her smartass answer on her face.  
  
“It’s a miracle,” she says.  
  
“Shut up.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, indignant for having walked right into that. We start making our way up the road to the chapel, past the skimmer on our curb that’ll just sit there uselessly until we manage to find a working battery. Until then, we’re hoofing it.  
  
The snow is already starting to stick to the sidewalk. Part of me is annoyed, because that means we’ll have to shovel it later, and snow on the ground is going to make Hunter patrols a pain. But there’s just something about it that feels… I don’t know. Normal. Just, refreshingly, wonderfully normal.  
  
“Hey,” I murmur, surrounded by the fairy tale quiet of falling snow. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”  
  
“I thought you could use some extra,” Yasmin smiles.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Beauty sleep.”  
  
“Hate you.” I love her.  
  
~*~  
  
I’ll tell you what I don’t love: showing up late for bell service for the second day in the row and having to see the Professor judging me from the foyer.  
  
“You’re late,” he says.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Wipe your feet.”  
  
“I _know_.”  
  
We move into the chapel and settle in beside the Shimizus. Mika saved us our seats, as usual. Brother Eli is at the altar, looking tiny beneath the grand mosaic of the Saint behind him. Brother Eli isn’t small by any means; he’s tall, taller than any of us, broad-shouldered, with a strong build. But in his vestments, loose on his lean frame, he just looks incredibly young, with the Saint looming over him- over all of us.  
  
Beside him, at the lectern, is a woman with the straight-backed and regal air of career military- Satya Singh, founding member of the Elk Lake Hunter’s Association. She’s wearing the wheat-gold uniform of Demeter PDF- tunic, breeches, cap, and coat.  
  
She’s stunning, even if she’s probably old enough to be my mom. There’s nothing like a woman in uniform.  
  
“My friends,” Commander Singh says, in a voice trained to carry far. “An announcement from the Association, while we’re all still here. I’m sure some of you have noticed some, shall we say, inconsistencies in regards to the electricity. Due to recent power shortages, we have been experiencing scattered blackouts across the city. This is troubling, no doubt, because of the unusually cold weather we’ve been having lately. I’m afraid I must ask for your patience while the Hunter’s Association restores power- but I assure you, this problem is being addressed. In the meantime, stay safe, stay warm, and stay vigilant. Brother Eli?”  
  
“Thank you, Commander Singh,” Brother Eli says, rising to the altar. “Brothers and sisters, let us pray…”  
  
The Commander steps down from the lectern, slipping in amongst her entourage of officers and veteran Hunters. They make their way out while Brother Eli is still doing his closing prayer. She nods politely to the Professor on her way out, which he acknowledges; but after she leaves, he starts stroking his beard, his expression clouded. What was that all about?  
  
Yasmin squeezes my hand. “You okay?” she asks.  
  
“It’s nothing,” I shrug. It’s probably something. I just don’t know what yet.  
  
“…We raise our souls like candles to thee,” Brother Eli was saying, “our Lady who first lit the flame. In honor of the Saint, Elizabeth Beauchene. Bless her name!”  
  
“Bless her name,” the crowd echoed.  
  
“Bless her name,” I mutter, feeling my jaw tighten to a scowl. Yasmin and Mika flash me the same look of concern they do every morning, every time- and I quietly hate them for it.  
  
The congregation starts dispersing around us, off to their respective duties. I know I wouldn’t mind having greenhouse duty. At least that’d be warm. I’m not exactly looking forward to an eight hour patrol. But it’s the mention of my mother that really fouls my mood. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, since I have to hear it every day.  
  
“That’s kind of an awkward way to end service,” Mika’s saying, just a little too quickly. “I feel like we should sing, or something.”  
  
You’re trying too hard, Mika. Still, I bite. “Do you sing, Mika?”  
  
“Why, Eliza? Do you think I’d have a nice voice?” She bats her eyelashes at me. I snort.  
  
“ _I_ think you have a lovely voice, Mika.” Yasmin, ever the diplomat.  
  
“She, of all people, enjoys the sound of her own voice.”  
  
“ _Thank you_ , Miki.”  
  
Mika huffs, before wandering off into the crowd to make small talk with her neighbors, Miki silently at her heels. I suppose she knows that the moment we step outside the chapel, we have to go to work, so she might as well milk it.  
  
We mill around in the gradually emptying chapel, watching our procrastination-enablers slowly filing out the door. Yasmin smiles at me, for no particular reason. I smile back, because, god, just look at her.  
  
And then, it seems, we’ve slacked off long enough, because who do I find in front of me than Brother Eli himself.  
  
“Eliza,” he says, with a tip of his head.  
  
“Brother Eli,” I begin, but he stops me with a raised palm.  
  
“Just ‘Eli’. Please.”  
  
Eli, changed out of his vestments and not standing before the mural of the Saint, is a completely different person. He’s huge, for one thing- probably a full head taller than me. For another, he’s… I’m not sure what the word is. Mellower? He still carries himself with the air of the religious, but it feels more genuine, a humble piety beneath the bells and whistles.  
  
Then, as if he’s reading my mind:  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says. “About your mother. I just can’t go off the script, you know?”  
  
“It’s fine,” I shrug. “I just get tired of hearing about her all the time. Like, hey, your mother saved the planet and is literally worshipped by your friends and neighbors, but no pressure or anything.”  
  
“I understand,” Eli says, but I really, really doubt it. “That must be difficult.”  
  
“You don’t have to be your mother,” Yasmin says quietly.  
  
“She was a legend,” I say. “I’m just… a person. I just want to be a person.”  
  
“It is the legend that endures,” Eli says. “People need the legend.”  
  
“No,” I say, adamant. “People need other people.”  
  
I guess that came out stronger than intended, since Eli looks away, sheepish, apologetic. It’s interesting seeing him in this light- as a person, not a pastor. Occasionally we’ve shared sentry duty with him, but we weren’t really friends. There was plenty to like about him, though. Dark skin. Soulful eyes. He looked pretty good. For a guy, anyway.  
  
“I apologize,” he says, carefully, “and I digress. I simply wanted to offer my congratulations.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
He blinks. “…I… your assignment. The Commander-”  
  
“-hasn’t made her final decision.”  
  
I feel a rough hand on my shoulder and go rigid for an instant before realizing it’s only the Professor. He draws up behind us, one hand on my shoulder, the other on Yasmin’s- in a gesture that was almost fatherly. Not that I would know.  
  
“Professor Maxwell,” Eli says, bowing his head.  
  
“Eli, my boy,” the Professor nods. “Nothing’s set in stone. Not yet. So let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”  
  
“Of course, Professor.” Someone catches his eye from across the chapel, likely some elderly couple seeking benediction. Eli smiles and bows, courteously. “If you’ll excuse me.”  
  
We let him go, and the Professor watches him leave, with the same pinched, troubled expression he had when Commander Singh passed him by earlier. He taps his cane on the floor, just once, the sound echoing strangely in the chapel’s confined space. Mika and Miki wave goodbye to one of their many cousins before rejoining us near the doorway.  
  
Bell service has been over for almost twenty minutes, so we really should have started our patrols by now. But there’s a murkiness to the Professor, a melancholy, that tells me he’s not just worried about being late for work.  
  
“Something wrong, Professor?” Yasmin asks.  
  
“It’s nothing,” he says.  
  
Oh, it’s something, alright. But what?  
  
~*~  
  
Whatever it was, the Professor wasn’t talking. Or, well, he wasn’t talking about what was bothering him. He was perfectly happy to talk about plenty of other stuff. Because if there’s one thing that sunshiney Mika and Professor Dour have in common, it’s that they talk away their discomfort.  
  
We’re patrolling the garden district, on our way to the Conservatory- one of our town’s primary food sources, now that the sandstorm’s cut off our fields and the weather’s too chilly to grow much of anything.  
  
It’s been a quiet day on patrol. Like I’ve said, it’s not as exciting as you think- mostly just a lot of walking. I’d love to get our skimmer up and running again, save us from hoofing it everywhere, but in the middle of a power shortage, that’s not looking likely.  
  
I mean, I’d also love to get our skimmer running and just take Yas on some spontaneous, devil-may-care road trip, but that’s even less likely than just bringing it to work. But, hey. It’d beat walking. And at least we could listen to some music.  
  
Instead, we’re listening to the Professor lecture us about military-grade body armor or some shit. Yawn. I look at Yasmin and she spares me a commiserating look. Her arm bumps into mine. It’s probably her nagging me, her way of saying I should try to pay attention. Even so, I smile without meaning to. God. I love her.  
  
“…of thermal-weave fabric, designed to disperse the heat transferred by laser weapons over a larger area, reducing their penetration and thus, their lethality,” the Professor was saying, while Yasmin and I eye-flirted behind his back. “So what happened was, you had the PDF wearing uniforms designed to resist lasbolts, being overrun by ghouls who could tear through their armor with just their teeth.”  
  
“So,” Mika chimes in, “against ghouls, you’re better off just wearing a nice thick winter coat.”  
  
“Practical,” Miki offers, “in this weather.”  
  
“And don’t you forget it,” the Professor says, his breath fogging the air.  
  
The Conservatory loomed ahead. With its ambient amber glow and lush, green interior, it looked deliciously warm- much warmer than the cold gray outside, anyway. We were approaching the steps when Mika, up ahead, stopped short and held up her fist. We all stop with her. She drops low, into a crouch, and raises her pocket scope to her eye, cool and professional in an instant.  
  
“Enemy spotted,” she says, adjusting her scope. “Ghoul, on the steps, eighty-five meters…”  
  
The Professor taps his cane on the ground, not waiting for Mika to call out the enemy position. A shadow snakes out along the pavement, opening into a puddle of inky blackness beneath the wandering ghoul. It vanished into the hole, crying out in confusion and surprise. It was almost comical, like something out of an old cartoon.  
  
Then there was an awful wet, crunching noise and a huge spray of black blood just appeared on the snowy grass, and the ghoul’s cartoonish demise didn’t seem all that funny anymore.  
  
We’re all looking at the Professor. He looks sheepish, if anything.  
  
“Sorry. I didn’t much want to wait,” he smiles, through chattering teeth.. “Let’s get inside, shall we?”  
  
~*~  
  
The Conservatory is a palace of glass in the central district of Elk Lake. It’s only a short walk away from the chapel, town hall, and the Armory, which is serving as the headquarters of the Hunter’s Association. After swinging out to the perimeter of the Halo, our patrol had led us back to the center of town, in one big sweep.  
  
Now, when I say the Conservatory is “a palace of glass”, I mean it. This place is goddamn enormous. It’s like somebody hollowed out a shopping mall, replaced a bunch of the walls with glass, and turned it into a giant greenhouse… shit. Maybe that is how they made this place.  
  
Yasmin’s dad, Joe Quintana, works here in the Conservatory. I like Joe. He has a truly impressive mustache, and he gets flustered when I call him ‘Dad’. Today, Yasmin and I got to see him for approximately two seconds before the Professor whisked him away to talk about Adult Things.  
  
The Conservatory is big, big enough to get lost in. It kind of has to be, if it has to feed everybody in town. But more than that, it’s warm. Blissfully so. Here I am, surrounded by foliage, and the only thing reminding me that I’m not in some steamy jungle is the fact that I’m sitting on a bench and not some fallen log.  
  
Yasmin is saying something. Something about how she’s worried about what’ll happen if the Conservatory loses power. About how losing our alarm clock is one thing, and losing Elk Lake’s primary source of food production is another.  
  
Shame on me, because I’m not really listening. I’m laying on the bench, hooking my knees over the armrest, dangling my legs over the side. I lay my head on Yasmin’s lap, and then she’s petting my hair, her touch so gentle even while she worries and frets above me.  
  
It’s all I can do not to just fall asleep right here. Between the heat, today’s patrol, the relief of our shift finally being over, and something else- my nightly melancholy, my personal storm cloud conjured by a frustratingly misfiring brain. I grit my teeth, thinking about Yasmin, enveloping myself in her warmth, her scent, her voice, her aura.  
  
_You’re here_ , she’s told me, more times than I can count. _You made it._  
  
And I did make it. I made it to the end of my workday, even though I feel like I didn’t contribute much.  
  
But there’s another thing here that gives my depression pause. And it’s a thought, so simple, so idle, as I lay on Yasmin’s lap and gaze up past the glass roof, to the shimmering white fire of the Halo shining above the town.  
  
Yasmin says something above me, and I miss it, my attention focused on chasing that thought:  
  
Somewhere above us, beyond the Halo, beyond the sandstorm and the clouds, is the sun. The sun, whose light and whose warmth gave Demeter the fields of plenty for which we became famous. The technology exists for alternative farming, of course. In hive cities, where space is a premium, indoor vertical farms are the norm.  
  
Demeter’s idyllic farmland made us the breadbasket of the Olympian cluster, all because we were blessed with good sunlight and good soil. Then Seth came, and his sandstorm with him, and all that went up in smoke.  
  
Only it didn’t. Even when we were cut off from the sun, we found a way.  
  
When we thought the world had ended, we made our own light.  
  
~*~  
  
Somebody out there, _please_ yell at me for not paying attention to my girlfriend. One, because it’s a shitty thing to do. Two, because Yasmin won’t do it herself. And three, because while I was spacing out in the Conservatory, staring up at the ceiling, Yasmin was telling me how her dad had invited us over for dinner at her parents’ place, which still had power, and more importantly, heat.  
  
Right now, I’m helping Yasmin’s mother, Gloria, do the dishes., stuffed to the gills with rice, beans, and stewed vegetables. Yasmin’s draped across the couch, complaining about how I shouldn’t have to do the dishes in her house, while Mika and Miki are in the living room, trying to see if they can get the Quintana’s old lithocaster working.  
  
“How was the food, _mija_?” Gloria’s asking me.  
  
“It was amazing, Mom- ma’am!” I blurt out. Gloria chuckles.  
  
“It’s always a joy to have my _other_ daughter around,” she smiles.  
  
“You’re embarrassing her, dear,” Joe says from the dinner table.  
  
“It’s what parents do,” Gloria shrugs.  
  
Joe’s sitting at the dinner table, reading the news on a dataslate. I can’t imagine it’s that good of a read- it’s all Hunter mission reports, anyway. Why would you want to read a dozen entries of “we found a ghoul on this street, but we killed it, so it’s all good”?  
  
Miki and Mika have given up on the lithocast. As amusing as it would have been, a full-size, 3-D hololith filling the living room would probably have eaten up too much power. They settle on setting a dataslate on the mantelpiece, above the Quintana’s old-fashioned fireplace.  
  
“What are we watching?” Yasmin asks. Miki shows her the data tile.  
  
“I brought one of my favorites,” he says. Yasmin holds the tile up, squinting in the firelight.  
  
It’s one of those classic, corny, transforming masked superhero shows. Yasmin looks delighted.  
  
“Oh my god,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “This looks _terrible_.”  
  
“I know.” Miki nods, his expression deadly serious. “It _demands_ to be seen.”  
  
“Now, Yasmin,” Gloria puts in, from the kitchen. “Don’t forget to thank your father for stocking the fireplace for you kids.”  
  
“Thanks, Mr. Quintana,” we chorus, just like we would a decade ago.  
  
“Oh yes,” Joe says. “By all means, enjoy that pre-cut firewood that I _bought_.”  
  
Yasmin and the twins are on the couch, watching the heroes don their crime-fighting costumes in a contractually obligated thirty-second clip of stock footage. I should be having fun. Logically, I see this. I’m in a cozy household, with my girlfriend, her parents, who might as well be my parents, and my best friends. Even so, I’m distracted, and not just by my nightly melancholy, either. I linger by the kitchen, apart from the others. My eyes keep being drawn away from the slate on the mantel, to what’s mounted on the wall above it- two Mk.-III lasrifles, standard issue for Demeter Planetary Defense.  
  
“Did you two fight in the war?” I ask, idly. Joe and Gloria share a glance.  
  
“We did,” Joe says, carefully. “We served with the PDF, as part of a volunteer company.”  
  
“But not after that?”  
  
“We weren’t soldiers. We were just desperate people,” Gloria says. “The PDF was losing control. They passed out what spare weapons they had, taught us the basics of how to use them, and had us hold street corners, civic centers. Just bunker down where we can.”  
  
“It was lousy work,” Joe says, sighing. “Volunteer militia, sent out to hold city blocks for just a few more precious hours. It didn’t look good, Eliza. Colonel Afolayan, he told us: defend ourselves. Defend your homes. Defend your neighbors. I don’t think anyone thought we could actually win. We just wanted to go down swinging.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
Joe bites his lip.  
  
“Then… your mother saved us,” Joe says. “She saved us all.”  
  
I grit my teeth and look away. I can’t help myself. Hearing about her just sets something off inside me, some wordless dread or anger that I can’t fully explain. I clench my fist and stare down at the dining table, just trying my best to breathe.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Joe almost reach out and touch my shoulder, before reconsidering. There’s a knock on the door behind me. Gloria goes to answer.  
  
“Brennan?”  
  
“Gloria,” says a voice. The Professor. “It’s been decided.”  
  
“No…”  
  
“Believe me, I tried to get it overturned. But the Commander wouldn’t budge. I-”  
  
I hear the Professor stop, check himself, realize who else is here. I’ve never heard him like this- harried, urgent, deathly serious. The laugh that follows is hollow, forced.  
  
“H-Hello, kids! Having fun, are you?” He swallows. “Joe, Gloria, a word?”  
  
Silently, I scrape my chair back and stand up, leaving the three of them to huddle in the kitchen and talk amongst themselves. The feeling of exclusion- of being the only one not in on the secret- closes around my chest like a vice.  
  
I shuffle into the living room, plop down on the couch. Miki is transfixed by his show, and I’m amazed by his ability to talk so animatedly and so passionately about something without his face expressing any emotion at all. Yasmin catches my hand immediately, squeezes, but says nothing. Mika glances curiously at me, at the Professor disappearing into a side room at Yasmin’s parent’s heels.  
  
“Something wrong?” She asks.  
  
“It’s nothing,” I lie, and not very well. I know damn well that it’s something, now.  
  
~*~  
  
There I was, having a nice, cozy night with Yasmin’s folks, and then the Professor and my mother had to spoil my mood. Anxiety clouded the air, suffusing it, poisoning it. When Mika and Miki decided to call it a night and head back to their place, Yasmin’s parents still weren’t back. They gave us awkward, stifled goodbyes, leaving me and Yasmin alone by the hearth.  
  
I watched the fire burn, light and shadow playing across us both. A sea of wordless, pent-up emotion churned around in my gut. Half of me wanted to cry. The other half, to hit something. Another half just feels trapped and angry at not knowing what to do, and yes, I know that’s three halves.  
  
We’re not on the couch anymore. I’m sitting with Yasmin on the floor, sharing a blanket, like we used to when we were kids. But I kiss her, then, in a way that’s certainly not like a child.  
  
I kiss her, again, and again. There’s an urgency to me, a heat and a want, but there’s a desperation, too, a lingering fear. She’s my escape from the worry, the melancholy. She is the edge of my world, the shore of my tangled thoughts, and if I just dive into her and swim far enough down then no more fear can reach me.  
  
Yasmin must feel my desperation, must feel the tangled knots of my brain scraping against her like steel wool. She stops me, holds me, takes my cheek as if she could hold my mania in her hand like a butterfly.  
  
“What is it, Eliza?” she asks me, and the fire glints in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“It’s nothing,” I say, and she can see the lie, feel it drip down my cheek, taste the salt of it on her tongue.  
  
It’s something, alright. But it’s nothing I can explain, nothing that’ll make sense. My anxiety has my chest up in knots, and Yasmin holds me as I cry, as I whimper nonsense into her shoulder, fixated on the fireplace and on the light of the Halo outside.  
  
Yasmin holds me tight, running her fingers through my hair, talking me through the roiling panic.  
  
“You’re here,” she says, like she always says. “You’re right here.”  
  
No, Yasmin. _You’re_ right here. You’re here, when my parents- my mother- aren’t. You’ve been here, through every bell service, through every trudge through the city on patrol, through every evening when I have to wrestle with my own brain.  
  
You’re here, my hearth, my home, and if I hold you tight enough now then you’ll still be here in the morning. What can the Saint say to that? What has my mother done for me, except loom above me, above everyone, with the cold light of a distant star?  
  
A star’s light endures long after it’s gone out. But that hardly matters now. Through the Halo, through the sandstorm, and even through the clouds above…  
  
No one on Demeter has seen the stars. Not for twenty years.  
  
~*~  
  
Morning comes, with a new day, and a new life.  
  
I wake up, tangled in a blanket, tangled in Yasmin, on the floor, with a few lingering embers still crackling in the fireplace. The heady rush of last night’s anxiety is gone, and I feel strangely light without it. I take a deep breath, and look up, at the shimmering glow of the Halo outside.  
  
I can’t help but sigh.  
  
Yasmin stirs, half-asleep, pulling me closer into her. I feel her breath ghost across the back of my neck, feel her lips brush against my ear just so. I shiver with a smile.  
  
I roll over, and kiss her on the nose. I watch her lips curl up at the edges, just so.  
  
“I love you,” I breathe, more sincere than anything I’ve ever said at service.  
  
“You’re so…” Yasmin stirs, before laying back and stretching, her arms over her head. She glances back at me, opening one sleepy eye. “…dramatic.”  
  
I bite my lip. “Sorry.”  
  
“That’s not what I mean,” Yasmin shakes her head. Her eyes meet mine. “I love you.”  
  
I’m about to kiss her, an apology kiss for last night- one bright and lucid and loving, not harried and desperate. But her mother has to ruin the moment, as good mothers do.  
  
“ _Mija_. _Mija_ , are you awake?”  
  
“Are we under attack?” Yasmin wonders idly, not getting up.  
  
“Are we late for bell service?” I drawl, smiling. It was supposed to be a joke. But when I sit up and see the gravity in Gloria Quintana’s eyes, the smile vanishes from my face, and from Yasmin’s.  
  
“You’re not going to bell service today,” Gloria says, and in her eyes I see an echo of the dread I felt last night. “Eliza, you’re going to the Hunter’s Association headquarters. Commander Singh wants to talk to you. Alone.”  
  
I look at Yasmin, and my eyes carry words I don’t say.  
  
Outside, the Halo’s light shines down; pale, and cold, like a distant star.  
  
~*~


End file.
